


1. not to me (not if it's you)

by winterfire22



Series: the losers kill It at age 13 and they all go to college together and everything is better [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: M/M, Non-Sexual Bed Sharing, Pining Richie Tozier, Reddie, TW: Puking, and they all like stay in each others lives and stuf, anyway they're like 20 or 21 in this, college au reddie, i guess they're 21 if they're going to bars but that sort of, idk it doesnt matter too much lmao, pre-reddie, reddie college au, richie is silly and annoying but he's soft for his friends......., this takes place in my college au where the losers kill it forever at age 13, throws off the math of the rest of the verse, tw: drunkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfire22/pseuds/winterfire22
Summary: the six male member of the losers' club went out for a wild party night for stan's bachelor party. but now the night is coming to an end, and eddie is way too drunk. luckily, richie is there to take care of him.





	1. not to me (not if it's you)

“Is he gonna be alright?” Stan asks, his words slurring sloppily. A wide grin lights his face, pushing his cheeks up, crinkling his glazed-over hazel eyes-- (i’ve never seen him this drunk in my life, richie realizes. he hasn’t been this drunk ever. i guess tonight was the night for it though)

“You mean Eddie?” Richie asks, glancing toward their friend, who is still slumped on the sidewalk bench, his face buried in his hands. “Oh, yeah. I’ll take care of him.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should come too, I don’t want him to get sick or suffocate or something,” Stan suggests.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Richie argues, grinning for a second. “You don’t have to take care of your blasted friend after your own bachelor party. You just go home and drink some water and get to sleep, my dude. I’ve got it covered.”

For once, Richie is the sober one. Well-- the second most sober one; Mike never seems to get drunk, no matter how many bottles of Coors Light he puts back. But Bill is practically holding Ben up, and Bill’s eyes have gone woozy too. (the blind leading the blind, richie’s mind jokes as he watches them both sway a little)

“Let’s go, Stan the man,” Mike suggests, taking his car keys out of his pocket. “Your girl’s gonna be worried. It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Oh my gosh,” Stan gushes, grinning harder. He puts a hand to his cheek. “I’m going to hug her so hard.”

Laughter pulls Richie out of his half-tipsy half-sleepy haze. “Hug her? Is that all you’re going to do, Stanley?”

“We’re not married yet,” he reminds Richie, stumbling a little-- Richie grabs for his arm to steady him. The streetlight dances in his messed up curls.

“Stan’s not allowed to have sex until he’s thirty,” Ben practically shouts. “He’s too refined!”

“Saturday,” Stan corrects. He cracks up, covering his face with both his hands this time. 

“TMI, my dude,” Richie chuckles. He glances back toward Eddie-- (fuck is he gonna be okay? should i take him to the hospital?)

“Come on, guys,” Mike says, shaking his head, a good-natured grin on his face. “Car’s right there. Can you make it, Haystack?”

“I can make it,” Ben says, words falling into each other. “Question is, can Eddie make it?”

“I got him,” Richie says again, taking a few steps toward the bench. “You guys get home safe, okay? Mike, are you sure you’re good to drive?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m all good,” Mike answered. “Night, Rich. Night, Eddie.”

“Night,” Richie returns. Eddie doesn’t move an inch. “See you on Saturday, hotshot,” he adds, grinning at Stan.

Stan takes a few stumbling steps and throws his arms around Richie. “I love you, man,” he says clumsily. “Thanks for being my best man.”

“Yeah,” Richie says a second too late, his heart shouting a little bit at the unexpected emotion of the interaction. “My fuckin’ pleasure, Stan the man.”

Stan is still grinning wide as he pulls away. Richie smiles back.

He watches Mike, Bill, Stan, and Ben pile into Mike’s maroon Subaru. Watches Mike easily pull out of his parallel park spot and drive off, back toward Orono, with a quick stop in Eddington to drop Stan off at his not-yet-unpacked brand new rental house.

He turns back toward Eddie. Dread spikes in his chest.

(he really seems out of it. how much did he have to drink?)

Richie had gotten too rowdy at the pregame, so he’d accidentally over-compensated by not drinking enough at the bars to keep his levels up. He’s barely tipsy now-- just sober enough to be fed up with being out. He wants a cold glass of water, freshly brushed teeth, and his bed.

But Eddie.

“Hey, Eds?” He asks, closing the distance between himself and the bench. He sits down, leaving a good few inches between him and his friend. “You doing okay? Should I call 911?”

“I’ll be fine,” Eddie exhales. His words come out clumsily, but he isn’t quite slurring. “Just can’t open my eyes right now. World’s spinning bad.”

“Okay,” Richie says with a nod. “Let’s just sit here a minute until you feel better. Then we can head back to my place.”

Eddie draws an unsteady, uncomfortable breath. He’s clawing at his face a little.

(i wonder if he’s gonna puke, richie thinks. if i were that drunk i would for sure be throwing up. but then again, it’s never taken much to get richie puking. 

He can hear crickets off in the distance. It’s kind of a muggy night, being June and all, and Maine summers being as damp and sticky as they are. Humidity to give the south a run for its money. One of Maine’s best-kept secrets. 

(when i eventually move out of maine i’m going someplace dry, richie decides. but he knows he isn’t leaving maine any time soon. or maybe ever. there are middle school notions that still tint the air here and he can’t leave those behind.)

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice comes, small, detached.

Richie straightens his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Just checking if you were still there.”

His jaw sets for a moment before he responds. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out. Places his palm on Eddie’s back. “I’m here, Eddie spaghetti. I’m not going anywhere. Let me know when you feel steady enough to walk back.”

(it’s only like what five blocks but i don’t know if he can handle that right now)

“Or there’s a payphone across the street,” Richie adds. “I could get a taxi.”

“It’s like five blocks,” Eddie mumbles into his hands.

“Yeah, but like, can you even stand right now?”

“I can stand. I’ll be fine. Just gotta go slow.”

“If you’re sure.”

Unsteadily, Eddie straightens up. He puts his hands out in front of him for balance. Richie stands too.

“Let’s just go,” Eddie says tightly. He closes his eyes again for a moment.

“Take it easy, Eds. I’m gonna hold onto your arm.”

“Everything’s so spinny,” he mumbles.

“Just go slow.”

They take a few steps. Eddie’s movements are all over the place, sloppy, like a toddler just learning how to walk.

And then, without a shred of warning, Eddie bends over and pukes onto the sidewalk.

(don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look ew ew ew)

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles once he’s done. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Sways a little.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Richie says, doing his best to maintain his grasp on Eddie’s arm without looking at the puke-- because, let’s be real, if he looks at it, he might be next. “Don’t step in it, buddy. Do you need to sit back down?”

“No, I feel better now.” He still sounds just as drunk. 

(maybe it’s best if we just make it home)

“Let me know if you want to stop,” Richie says as they start back up again. 

Eddie doesn’t reply. His face is turned downward. If not for Richie’s hand on his arm, he would probably be in a crumpled mess on the sidewalk.

(poor guy, richie thinks to himself. just trying to have fun and he ends up too drunk and sick and shaky. i’ve been there. fuckin hate it. and eddie already hates feeling sick because of all the bullshit with his mom, richie realizes-- the piles and piles of steaming bullshit. stuff richie didn’t know about until eddie told him over the course of several late nights, some involving drinks, starting around the time they both moved out. tons of deeply fucked up stuff that eddie is still unlearning and moving past.)

Richie looks at Eddie, frowning. 

(i’m going to take care of him and make sure he’s okay but i’m not going to coddle him because that would just make him feel worse)

Eddie moans a little bit.

“Almost there, Eds,” Richie reassures.

Eddie’s shoulders are shaking. His feet are becoming clumsier. 

“I’m so dizzy, Rich,” he manages, almost whispering.

“I know you are. You can close your eyes if you want. I got you.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

(i’ve heard that before. i’ve said that before)

“Hey, look, we made it.” Richie punches in the building code with his knuckle. The door buzzes, and he shoves it open. “Do you wanna sit down a sec before trying to go up the stairs?”

“No, let’s just get it over with,” Eddie mumbles.

“That’s what your mom said to me last night,” Richie jokes before he can stop himself.

(he knows it’s not the time he just doesn’t have a filter it’s been something he’s been trying to figure out as long as he remembers but it’s just never happened)

Either way, Eddie ignores the joke. Slowly, unsteadily, they make it up the stairs. Richie unlocks the apartment and leads Eddie inside, flicking the dead bolt shut once they’re in.

“Let’s brush those teeth,” he suggests.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters back.

Richie kicks off his shoes. Fumbling, Eddie copies the action. 

It feels like another five hours before their teeth are brushed and they make it to Richie’s bedroom, two tall glasses of water on the nightstand. Eddie is still hunched up, shaking a little, clearly very uncomfortable-- but thanks to the walk and the water and the teeth brushing and taking care of Eddie, Richie has sobered up completely. He stares at Eddie for a moment, the two of them sat on the side of Richie’s bed. 

(so how do i tackle this situation, he ponders. we’re clearly both gonna sleep in my bed. i have to stay by him to make sure he doesn’t actually die. i hope he doesn’t think it’s weird………... i’ll just do my absolute best to not touch him at all even a little bit.)

“You ready to go to sleep, Eds?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, rubbing at his eyes. “Can I borrow pajamas?”

(this loser sleeps in pajamas?)

“Sure. I’ll grab you some. They’ll be a little big on you, but they’ll work.” He straightens up, stretching his arms a little, and goes for his dresser. He tracks down a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt. Usually Richie just sleeps in his boxers, but he figures having Eddie in his bed-- he should probably at least wear a shirt so it isn’t weird. So he grabs himself one too.

“Here you go.”

Eddie looks at Richie just long enough to accept the clothes. He takes his polo off. Pulls the tee shirt on. Then he reaches to unbutton his jeans.

His face hot, Richie turns away. He takes his clothes off and puts the fresh tee shirt on. Takes his sweet time so Eddie will hopefully be dressed when he turns back around--

And there he is, sitting with his face in his hands and his elbows against his knees, wearing Richie’s too-big The Cure tee shirt and navy blue plaid pajama pants his mother had given him last Christmas.

A thought starts to push into Richie’s mind-- (god he looks cute) but he shoves at it fiercely until it’s gone.

His heart a little unsteady, Richie speaks up. “I’m gonna turn the light off. Get settled.”

Eddie nods and shuffles himself into the left side of Richie’s bed. Richie turns the light off. Leaves his glasses on the nightstand. Makes his way to his side on muscle memory.

Sleep doesn't come easily, though. He's over conscious of the body next to his. The breathing that comes from it. 

Richie is still awake when, maybe an hour later, Eddie starts shivering.

“You okay?” Richie whispers, frowning. (ok but it's literally not even cold in here so surely that has to like be a sign of serious big bad alcohol poisoning? fuck should i take him to the hospital)

“Really fucking cold,” Eddie whispers back, his teeth clattering into the words. “Will you put your stupid arm around me or something? I’m freezing.”

Now he’s wide awake. Wide, wide awake.

“Sure,” Richie answers a moment too late. He shifts toward Eddie. Hesitantly settles against him, an arm across Eddie’s chest, his hand resting on Eddie’s arm.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Richie whispers, his eyes staring wide into the dark room.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :) please leave a comment!!!


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